


Blue

by specsi



Series: Flash Fiction [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24608542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/specsi/pseuds/specsi
Summary: The squeaks of my shoes on the freshly washed floors of my building. The clicking of heels of my upstairs neighbour against expensive hardwood floors. The clack of my door as it shuts behind me on the third attempt, almost catching the side of the sack thrown over my shoulder. The cling of my keys as I pat my pocket in momentary fear of locking myself out. The sigh I can’t help.
Series: Flash Fiction [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778992
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	Blue

The squeaks of my shoes on the freshly washed floors of my building. The clicking of heels of my upstairs neighbour against expensive hardwood floors. The clack of my door as it shuts behind me on the third attempt, almost catching the side of the sack thrown over my shoulder. The cling of my keys as I pat my pocket in momentary fear of locking myself out. The sigh I can’t help. 

Why do I always do this. 

The ding of the elevator as it leaves my floor just as I push the button. 

Asshole.

The hurried patter of my feet against the stairs. The uneven breaths as this is the most exercise I’ve done in the past month. Approximately. The shrieks of the tiny rat-dog that lives three floors below me. I’m still not sure which it is. Honestly I’m hoping for the rat at this point, if for nothing else then for the chance it might be intelligent. The crash that echoes through the entrance hall as I once again forget in which direction the door opens. The swish when I get it right. The thud behind me. The shuffle of my shoes against the pavement. The cry of a kid. The laugh of a different kid. The reasonably correct barking and the screech of a squirrel. The honk of a car. The roar of a motorcycle. The ring of a bicycle…

It’s everywhere, with every step, overwhelming, my favourite type of too-much. It helps me forget the unsolicited splurge of too-much invading my eyes. It helps me justify the insistent glaring at the grey pavement. It’s the good kind of grey, dark, safe. I like that grey. It’s one of the few shades of grey on the spectrum of colour I can perceive. 

Apart from that shade of grey, sight is overrated. Sounds are so much more interesting. Even feeling the heaviness of the sack thrown over my shoulder is better than having to look at shades of the same colour over and over again everywhere. It shifts, bumps into my back as I walk and cuts into my hand with the combined weight of the inside and the situation. It’s time I get rid of it, really.

It’s also grey, but not the good grey. It’s the weird empty-grey that comes from a colour you can’t perceive. I don’t know what colour the sack really is. Someone else might. This whole thing of being able to see only one colour and its shades is such bullshit. 

The colour you see doesn’t define you - my ass.  
It doesn’t matter which colour it is - in which fucking universe, please tell me and move me there.

People are so transparent. The colour they see slowly seeps into who they are and what they do so much, it’s visible in the simplest of actions. It’s in the lightness of steps and the warmth of the smile of the barista that’s currently making my coffee. It’s in the burning passion in the eyes of the customer almost spilling the coffee on the table in excitement. It’s in the slight, calm nod of the head of the newspaper seller on the corner I pass. It’s in the jumps and shrieks of the kid that almost runs into me and in the breezy ‘sorry’ thrown my way. It’s in the tall posture drawing attention from across the street. It’s in the face I glance away from way too fast for politeness, because I know the look too well.

I reach the corner too soon, stand in front of the large container and it’s too much. The sack slips down my shoulder and I find comfort in the dull thud. I grasp my coffee harder, take a deep breath, hoist the sack up and throw it inside. I can’t help but close my eyes as the clothes disappear. My clothes. All empty-grey. 

I promised I won’t wear them anymore. Something along the lines of pretending I’m someone else, or hiding away from my colour in colours of someone else. 

No shit mister I-See-The-Obvious. We haven’t noticed. ‘Cause that wasn’t the point of it all the whole time. 

I take a sip of my cold coffee and it feels like home. Another deep breath and I gather enough shreds of courage to look up. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sky. The sounds stop. There’s a feeling of home I used to dread. 

There’s the shuffle of my shoes against the pavement. There’s the colour of my jeans. There’s the shriek of a bird. There’s the colour of my shirt. There’s the swish of a car. There’s the colour of the eyes of a passerby. There’s the ring of a bell on a shop’s door and the colour of a book in the shop’s display.

There’s the blue of the word mine.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi,  
> thank you for reading :)  
> This is a short original piece of flash fiction. I'm not sure if there will be a sequel to this one, but you never know :D  
> If you have any questions or comments I'd love to read them.


End file.
